"Apparently there's going to be some big announcement today," Alec says, picking up Amisha's belongings from the bedside table (including the sunflower he had gotten for her). Over the past week that Amisha had been confined to the bed in the infirmary, Alec had formed a friendship with the Summoner witch. Though, a tad bit reluctant on her part.

Amisha groans and slumps back onto the infirmary bed. "Maybe I can convince Nurse Ava to let me stay another day."

"You don't want to find out why the Professors have been acting so...odd?" Alec asks out of confusion and curiosity. He leans against the bed, his arms crossed as he stares at her with interest.

"No." She groans as she drags her reluctant body away from the bed. "It's probably something about the Tournament."

The look of surprise on Alec's face changes to realisation. Alec's not sure how it had slipped out of his mind; it's as if his mind had decided that it was in his best interests that he doesn't think about the tournament too much.

It doesn't take Amisha long to figure out the direction of Alec's thoughts just from his facial expressions.

"Don't tell me, you forgot about the Tournament?"

"I haven't forgotten," Alec replies and Amisha raises an eyebrow. She's clearly not convinced. "I just haven't given it much thought."

"Why? You don't think you'll be chosen?"

Alec scoffs. "No, I don't think I'm exactly cut out to defeat the Dark King and be some sort of war hero." He looks at her and finds a look of deep concentration on her face. "Do you think you'll be chosen?"

"No, I can't even turn up to class on time. This is a job for Noah Woods not me."

Alec tilts his head and studies Amisha Jeet. He knows that it's going to take more than one person - even if it's Noah Woods - to defeat the darkest witch to plague the history of witches, but he doesn't say that. Alec's not quite sure why either.

By the perusing look on Amisha's face, Alec knows that she's trying to figure him out. It's probably not going to take her long, he thinks. After all, he's an open book - whereas Amisha Jeet is another story. He's usually good at figuring people out but Amisha is a thousand-piece-puzzle and before he can even think of putting the pieces together, he needs to find them first.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"Good morning, students. I'll keep this short and sharp, I hope you all have had a great start to the year so far. Third years, do not forget about the career advisors coming in on Saturday. Attendance is compulsory no matter how precious your beauty sleep may be." Chuckles sound around the room at the 'no fucks given' tone that the Principal uses. "You all may leave. First years stay behind."

Students scramble up, some eager to leave and others disappointed, having to leave behind their unfinished breakfast. First year witches perk up out of interest whereas others try to hide their irritation.

"Now many of you already know," the Principal starts, her lips thinning together. "But for those that don't know, in 1988, Maria Costav an extremely powerful Seer witch had a vision. A vision of the end of our kind."

Eyes grow wide and horrified gasps escape the lips of some Luxines. Sierra finds it surprising to see Noah's eyes widen even though he is well aware of the tournament.

The elder witch continues. "She also saw six of our heirs rise in order to protect our kind against Basileus Nox. The most evil witch to terrorize our kind."

Surprisingly, everyone cringes - not just Luxines. Sierra, herself isn't used to, to hearing the name Basileus Nox. It seems easier to hear 'Dark King' rather than an actual name. It's easier to hate a villain than a living, breathing human. Someone as normal and mundane as her; but the Dark King isn't humane, maybe Basileus Nox was - but not the Dark King. The man - if he could even be called a man - witches had teamed up against and sent to the Afterlife, was evil, sadistic, ruthless and psychopathic. The way Sierra sees things, he deserves to be hated.

So as Principal Cashore continues explaining the Dark King and his army (the Malefactors), Sierra finds herself replacing Basileus Nox with the Dark King. Simply because it is easier.

"Which is why, Governor Gilbert has decided for there to be a tournament."

Lucas leans over the table, towards Sierra and whispers, "Governor?"

"It's like the President of Witches," Sierra replies and Luke nods in understanding. He looks away but turns back around with another thought.

"I assume you don't have a witch version of Donald Trump running for Governor?"

Sierra lets a knowing smirk dance on her lips and whispers back, "What's to say that he isn't a witch?"

A horrified look takes over Luke's face.

"Don't worry, that bawbag isn't worthy of our magic," Minerva interjects, from beside Luke who breathes a sigh of relief. Noah watches in amusement, unaware of the reasons behind the mutual distaste towards Donald Trump. He makes a note to ask Zoe afterwards. Sierra tries not to look confused by the random Scottish terms that Minerva keeps throwing into her sentences. She considers buying a guide to Scottish Slang, knowing that it will come in handy.

"Tomorrow Governor Gilbert and consumer witch, Gwendolyn Highmore will be joining us." Alana Cashore's eyes shift to Day momentarily before she reverts back to addressing the student body as a whole. "The rest of tomorrow's events will be explained to you tomorrow. I expect appropriate behaviour and maturity about the matter at hand. This is not just a tournament, our heirs will be chosen."

Amisha looks at her Principal and then her eyes search the faces of every first year left in the hall. Not that it matters or holds any relevance, but her dark brown eyes linger a little longer than necessary on a certain Italian witch who brings her sunflowers.

She notices the wide variation of expressions on faces ranging from fear, curiosity, excitement and horror. And she tries to figure out what another contemplating witch would find on hers. She doesn't want glory and nor does she think of herself to be capable of saving their kind. At the same time, she does fear being chosen. Amisha isn't sure what she wants in the first place. She knows what's going to happen. People are going to die, and that's enough to make her want to run across the world, far from America. Maybe she could get a house, somewhere far from America and its dramatic tantrums. She considers going back home to England but discards the idea instantly. England isn't as glorious as everyone makes it out to be, no cute gentlemen who call you love and open the door for you. Just rain and a lot of bipolar weather.

Maybe she could visit India, it's been like, what? Fifteen years, or so since she's been there? She wonders if the conditions have changed from what she remembers. As much as her mum would approve of the idea, the idea of returning to India doesn't appeal to Amisha.

A house in Australia doesn't sound too bad, but she knows Aisha's fear of spiders, lizards and basically everything that is home to Australia. Though, no one said Amisha has to drag her fifteen year old sister along with her. Despite how much Aisha annoys Amisha, the witch knows that she could never leave her sister behind.

After the student body is dismissed with a final warning stare from Cashore, Amisha ambles out of the hall. Alec catches up with her without much effort; his strides longer and faster than hers.

"Where are you off to?"

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes but then shifts them to her shoulder bag in which her textbooks sit. She double checks that she has her necessities and her dark wavy strands fall on the side of her face, hiding it from Alec's curious gaze.

"To class, one we actually share," Amisha replies, lifting her eyes to meet his pale blue ones. They narrow before they widen.

"Wait, are you serious?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing together. The rapid change of facial expressions has Amisha raising her eyebrows and biting her lip so she doesn't burst out laughing. "I'm sure I have a free period before the next hour's class."

Amisha pulls out her timetable, beginning to doubt herself. From what she had seen so far, no one is as brilliant as the Kingsley girl, but if anyone can hold a torch to her, it's Alec. She scans it up and down until she finds the time and day she's looking for. With a smug and self-pleased smile, Amisha points to the timetable and signals Alec towards it. With pursed lips he studies it and realises that in fact, the British-Indian is right.

"I suppose we need to hurry," Alec replies with a pish-posh tone.

With a smirk on her face, Amisha agrees using the same tone, "I suppose we should."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■

Day knocks on the large marble door. When he gets no response, he leans towards the door and lifts his fist up to knock again. The large doors pull open and Day stumbles into the room in surprise.

"Come in, Mr. Blackwood," a silvery and modulated voice calls out. Day raises his head and meets the hawk like eyes of his Principal.

He straightens and wonders if he really saw amusement in the eyes of his Principal or if that was a figment of his imagination.

The room is large, not as large as their classrooms or lounge rooms, but larger than most offices. A small dining table for six sits on the left hand side of where Day stands in front of the door. On the right are two navy blue coloured couches with a black coffee table in front of them. The left wall is lined with a large black bookshelf full of books and green and blue ornaments that his mother would be jealous of. The wall on his right is covered with cabinets and photo frames of what seems to be past principals.

"Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood."

Day walks up the two steps that lead to a higher flooring where Principle Cashore sits at her desk. He pulls the black chair back and as he bends to sit down, his eyes skim over the large windows that face the outside from both sides of the Principal's desk.

Alana Cashore scrutinizes the boy in front of her. "How has the year been for you so far?"

He's puzzled by the small talk but tries not to show it. "So far so good."

Principal Cashore pulls back the drawer and her fingers scrummage inside it. The silence stresses on and Day fights the urge to shift or squirm in the seat awkwardly.

"Have you been working on controlling your magic?" she asks, glancing up at him and then back at the drawer. As an afterthought she adds, "Congratulations on becoming witched as a consumer witch."

"Thank you." Day nods politely. "Uh, as for controlling my magic, it's a work in progress."

Principal Cashore looks up at him and this time her gaze remains on his face searching for answers she already has. Though she is already aware of the slow progress with controlling his magic, she feigns a look of confusion. "Hopefully Professor Killian isn't to blame for that?"

Day's eyes widen and quickly shakes his head in denial even though a witch who actually specialised in consuming would be helpful. He holds that piece of information back, knowing that it would be overstepping the boundaries of a student. It's only been a month at the academy, it's not going to be exactly stellar if his Principal labels him disrespectful within a month. The principal smiles knowingly.

"Don't worry, Mr. Blackwood. I understand how difficult it must be to learn how to control something from someone who doesn't know how it feels to be in your position."

He's not sure how to reply to that or with that. Day settles for a slow nod.

"As announced earlier, Governor Gilbert and Gwendolyn Highmore will be paying our academy a visit tomorrow. Mrs. Highmore is a consumer witch, and I thought it was only appropriate if she stayed at the academy for a few months to help you with controlling your magic."

Day's eyes widen as he processes the information. He knows who Gwendolyn Highmore is. How can you not? She is after all two hundred years old and responsible for the (now powerless) dark witches rotting in jail.

"Oh, wow." Is all he can manage to say.

"What do you think of that, Dayton?" It's the first time she has addressed him by his first name, and though he is too occupied by his gratification, when he leaves her office later on, Day will find it odd.

"Thank you for doing so much."

It's not the most clever thing to say and he mentally slaps himself for his lack of wit.

Principal Cashore nods, looking pleased.

"It is final then, Gwendolyn Highmore will be helping you with keeping your magic in check."